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Dirty Little Secrets

Noah

This was a mistake. I'm going to die tonight.

"You better hold on tighter than that, Noah."

"Why?" Rain-soaked blonde hair sticks to my face and mouth. "What are you going to—ahh! Shit!"

I scream as Silas hits the gas, the tires of the motorcycle squealing against the wet pavement. Digging my fingernails into his chest, I squeeze my eyes shut while he takes the turn onto the next street a little tighter than I'd like, especially with the rain still coming down—a light mist in the thick, summer night air, but enough that my heart stops each time he turns a corner. After all, it's my first time on a motorcycle; it might be Silas's first time, too.

I decided I was better off not knowing.

I release the breath I've been holding when he slows at a stop sign and then quickly suck it back in, gritting my teeth when he takes off without ever stopping the bike.

"Silas!" I shout over the muffler. "Please, slow down! We're not wearing helmets."

"No," he replies succinctly. "Not smart on a stolen bike, Noah. Better to just get this over with."

I breathe out the word, "Okay." I know he can't hear me; I know it doesn't matter, anyway. As usual, I'm not the one in control here.

I tighten my grip around his body, taking my left wrist in my right hand and burying my face against his back. It'll be over shortly—one way or another.

And he's warm right here, a stark contrast to the chill on my wet skin. Goose bumps erupt over my bare arms and legs as we continue moving down the dark mountain roads far too quickly.

"Keep your head down, Noah," he says, finally slowing the bike as we approach our destination—a dark alley on a side of town that's known for seedy activity. And that's saying something…since the good side of town is known for seedy activity, too.

Silas parks the bike in the alley, and I hop off first. My legs don't cooperate and almost give out beneath me when I land on the pavement, and he laughs.

It's like getting off of a rollercoaster, but worse.

"You good?"

"Yeah. Mostly."

"Let's go," he says, adjusting his hat and stuffing his hands into his pockets. At 5'8", I'm not short, but he still has at least half of a foot on me, and I struggle to keep up with his long, purposeful strides on shaky legs. It defies fucking logic that he can move this much faster than I can while appearing calm, collected. I cross my arms in front of my body, attempting to fight the chill, and follow just at his heels, nothing about my strides appearing natural.

He glances over his shoulder before we reach the end of the alley, eyes roaming up and down my body as he takes in my disheveled appearance and almost smiles.

"You had fun," he says.

My first instinct is to lie, and I'm not sure why. It's just…me. But I don't this time—I bite back a smile and nod. "Yeah," I admit. "It was fun."

Silas reaches for me, hooking a finger into my belt loop and using it to pull me into his body. He grips the nape of my neck with the other hand, leans down, and kisses me, pulling my bottom lip through his teeth before breaking away and inclining his head toward the street.

"Let's go," he says, winking before turning away.

I silently lecture myself for my unhinged visceral reaction when my stomach flip-flops. Butterflies—that's what people call it. Until recently, I didn't know the feeling or how accurate the description was. I had no idea, but I do now.

That is not what this is, Noah. Don't be stupid.

This is getting to be too much for me. I need to stop. Ican and willstop.

We turn the corner, spotting the old red Toyota with its lights off just a block away, and I follow Silas into the backseat. My icy hands prickle almost painfully as I'm met with the warmth inside the vehicle.

"How was it?" Tate asks as he pulls the car onto the dark, empty street. It's Silas who answers—he's the one he's talking to, even though his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.